


Everyone Knows Arthur Can't Keep a Secret

by LapOtter



Series: The Things He Won't Do (and the Things He Would Like To Do) [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alpha Arthur, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Aviation History, Beta Carolyn, Beta Douglas, Dom Martin, Dom/sub Undertones, Gen, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Martin, Omega in Hiding, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapOtter/pseuds/LapOtter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur can't keep a secret; by tomorrow, everyone at MJN and probably all of Fitton will know that Martin is an omega, a male-identified omega in heat.  Martin could delay that by sharing his heat, but it wouldn't make any difference; the secret is as good as out, now.  In all likelihood, he'll lose his job; no one wants an omega pilot.  No one else would hire him, either.  </p><p>"No," Martin says.  "I don't want your <em>help</em>.  Leave me alone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Knows Arthur Can't Keep a Secret

Martin hates being an omega.

He hates the expectations: that he's easy, that he can't control himself, that he'll drop his pants and present for any alpha who scents him. He hates that every omega on television is a mother or a whore. There aren't any omega cops, or construction workers, or doctors--there _are_ a fair few omega nurses, but.

Not a single omega on television is a pilot.

The first female-identified pilot was Amelia Earhart, an alpha; everyone knows that. Martin, and almost no one else, knows that the first omega pilot was Vanessa Harbridge, also female-identified. She'd crash-landed and died on a flight from Montreal to Toronto; all the history books blamed it on her hysterical nature. She must have panicked, they said, and forgotten anything she knew about flying. Because she was an omega, she must have been incompetent and overemotional.

Martin could prove them wrong. Hell, even Douglas admitted that Martin's landing in St Petersburg had been superb. Martin is better under pressure; it has nothing to do with his being an omega.

Not that anyone at MJN or Fitton Airfield knows. They all assume he's a beta, like Douglas and Carolyn. Even Arthur, an alpha, hasn't yet guessed Martin's secret.

Arthur terrifies Martin. Especially on days like today: a long flight, within a few days of his heat, his hormones ramping up. He flinches at every touch, no matter how innocent; turns down every offer of tea or coffee; snaps through the pre-flight and post-takeoff checks.

"Touchy," Douglas says, but makes no other comment; it would be a relief, if Martin weren't so worried about being found out.

The flight itself is, thankfully, utterly routine, and by a stroke of good luck, Carolyn hasn't scheduled them for anything else for four days. Martin saved, worked himself ragged on van jobs, to stock up on food for those days: nonperishable, easily-heated food, high in protein (and sodium and fats, but cheap protein-rich food was necessarily processed junk). He hesitated, and then splurged on some fresh fruit as well: bananas, apples, and a single small package of blueberries.

They land without incident. Martin stays behind, ostensibly to do post-flight checks on their instrumentation, but really hoping that the rest of them (Arthur, mostly Arthur) will clear out before he finishes. He smells _ripe_ , must be closer than he thought, and the smell would be outside the conscious range for betas, but Arthur would smell it, and he'd know exactly what it meant.

Martin waits until the cabin has been quiet for several minutes, then sighs and starts for home. He's beginning to get sticky and desperate; if he doesn't go, the flight deck will reek of omega for days.

Arthur is waiting for him just outside the flight deck. "Hello, Skip," he says, cheerful as ever.

"What are you still doing here, Arthur?" Martin asks, cautiously, backing away a step. Is it possible Arthur doesn't smell him?

"I thought you might want some help," Arthur says. "With--you know." He makes an expansive gesture with both hands, seemingly indicating everything or, possibly, nothing. "Since there's no flights on for a few days--lucky, that--Mum won't need me for a while. So I could come and help, if you wanted me to."

No. There's no chance Arthur doesn't smell him, doesn't know exactly what's happening inside Martin's body. It's _sickening_ , how much Martin wants to say yes--let Arthur take him home, fill him and knot him and mark him and _claim_ him--he feels like he might throw up, with how much he wants it, and how much he hates wanting it.

Arthur can't keep a secret; by tomorrow, everyone at MJN and probably all of Fitton will know that Martin is an omega, a male-identified omega in heat. Martin could delay that by sharing his heat, but it wouldn't make any difference; the secret is as good as out, now. In all likelihood, he'll lose his job; no one wants an omega pilot. No one else would hire him, either. 

"No," Martin says. "I don't want your _help_. Leave me alone."

"Okay," Arthur says, undiminished. "Do you have someone else, then?"

Martin should say 'yes'; alphas have a way of respecting another alpha's "claim" more than they respect omegas. "No," he bites. "I just don't want you to fuck me. _Goodbye_."

"Oh," Arthur says. "All right, then. Bye, Skip! Good luck! See you next week!"

Martin stares at him. That's... not how alphas usually behave. Certainly, he'd never imagined he'd meet an alpha who would smile as he turned them down. But Arthur is smiling, and not pushing the issue or making any move toward Martin at all.

Martin leaves, casting frequent glances over his shoulder; he doesn't even see Arthur leave the plane.

 

Martin can't afford a variety or quality of sex toy. The best "heat aids" have expanding knots, and handles that give leverage to fuck oneself. Martin's has a permanent knot, which means it's small enough to fit inside, which means it's not big enough to be satisfying. Its base is flared, but too slick to grip properly. He can never fuck himself hard enough, deep enough, fast enough; he never feels full enough.

He imagines more toys, better toys: toys he can suction-cup to the wall, toys he can kneel over and ride, toys that will expand inside him and twitch and flood him with fluid. Martin pinches his nipples and rubs his dick and comes, and comes, and never, ever, imagines another person with him during his heats.

 

Outside his heats, though.

God, the things he'd like to do. He'd love to have an alpha on their knees, love to see them suck his cock, love to bend them over and fuck them. Betas too, sometimes, but usually alphas. He wants, most of all, to _see_ \--to fuck an alpha face-to-face, to watch them come all over themselves, to see their knot swell with nothing to clamp down tight around it.

They should know what it's like, not to have what their bodies think they need. They should know how little they actually need it.

 

No one's called to tell him the flight is cancelled; no one's called to tell him he's fired. In the absence of any other information, Martin puts on his uniform and his most defiant stare and goes to the airfield.

"Good, Martin, you're here," Carolyn says when she sees him. "Have you filed the flight plan yet?"

"I just got here," Martin insists; "of course I haven't."

"Eeexcellent! It just so happens we've picked up a second client, so instead of flying home from Minsk, we'll be making a teeny little detour."

Maybe... Martin dared begin to hope his secret was still safe. "What kind of detour?" he asked, cautiously. "Where to?"

"Cape Town!" Carolyn says cheerfully, as if that weren't across a continent from Minsk.

Martin argues. Douglas argues, too, and he's better at it than Martin, but ultimately the fact remains that any trip could be MJN's last, and that includes any trip they decide not to take. Carolyn's worked it out so that they're just inside the legal limits, which always makes Martin nervous--but they fly.

He's flying, and that's the important thing.


End file.
